The World, Ten Years Earlier
by Courgette
Summary: A lot can happen in ten years, and reliving a skewed perspective on the past is something that can be difficult to adjust to.


The TYL lads and ladies obviously get switched with the current guys in the TYL arc. Or so I thought. Apparently they don't really, because the baddies catch them in a jar. So can we please ignore that and imagine that the swap is normal for the purposes of this fic? Ta!

* * *

The World, Ten Years Earlier.

That face, looking up at him, confusion and hope etched onto its features. It would haunt him forever, he knew. Curious disbelief and _innocence_ - that rare innocence - still shone in him. Did he even know what he was asking? On some level, he was probably aware, perhaps driven to have such an expression because he was desperate to be told anything but the truth.

That sweet face. Unblemished by the years or the current strains, the Jyuudaime smiled awkwardly at him. Broadcasting his thoughts. _Please tell me it'll be okay. That everything is all right, that we're safe, that everyone's still alive, prospering, laughing and playing like they did only ten years ago. Please don't tell me that we're dying, that so many are lost, that I'm…_

So much can happen in _only_ ten years.

That face is really going to haunt him. He could see it already, changing as he answered the question without a lie. He couldn't lie. Not to him.

The innocence and hopeful grin would melt away, morphing into a mixture of horror, terror, utter disbelief. The face would haunt him, but that change in emotion would attach itself to his every moment, plaguing each move, thought, word, second. His eyes burned, the grief constricted his throat.

I have failed you.

"That is…because…"

Smoke. The sudden change in atmosphere was a shock, but recognition was overwhelming, his surroundings familiar yet so different, and he felt his demeanour cracking. Even as the smoke cleared and the boy he was talking to disappeared, his words were choked and quiet. I have failed you.

"Because…"

You and our family. His posture was slumped and defeated where he knelt.

"You're dead."

The whisper was so quiet, barely there, forced through the lump in his throat and his gritted teeth. Everything hurt. The loss tore at him. Gripping his body. He could barely breathe.

"I'm sorry…so sorry."

The words repeated, again and again. He could hardly tell if he was thinking them or saying them aloud.

"…sorry."

He was a failure. He would never forgive himself. His lone figure knelt in the street.

Eventually, his hands covered his face, digging into his eyes and cheeks, dragging down his face in a last desperate attempt to either claw away the pain or wake up from his never ending nightmare. Neither wish was answered, but in his life, what wish ever had been? Anger slowly began to replace his desolation, lethargically seeping into his blood like liquid fire, and searing his every sense. It built up gradually, taking its time. Bubbling beneath the surface.

In due course he stood up.

His hands shook as he surveyed his surroundings, suddenly cursing at his lack of control. Jyuudaime was still such a raw wound. The childlike innocence sitting in that coffin had thrust a red-hot poker into that wound. It appeared to have been twisted in with viciousness comparable to his own fury. Metaphorically twisted, of course.

Metaphorical poker, at that.

The feelings had come crashing down onto his shoulders, burdening him instantly with everything he had professionally pushed aside in the interests of the few surviving Vongola. Those feelings had left him in a mess. Yamamoto would have known to instantly assess the surrounding area, as soon as it changed, ten-year bazooka or not. He, however, had let the tide of emotion flood over him. Failure.

There was nobody nearby. The streets were silent. Nothing. Birds sang, and the sun shone down on him. Nobody leapt to attack him. No shots were fired. The silence was oddly comforting, and as his tensed form relaxed he dropped backwards onto the dusty ground, not caring for the state of his pristine suit.

Lying there in the dirt, he allowed himself to marvel at the peace in Namimori ten years ago. It was beautiful. He ought to enjoy it in the five minutes he had. The breeze blew, the sun shone. Birds sang. The quiet was soothing.

Eventually, a cloud covered the sun.

A little after that, it began to rain.

* * *

An entire day had passed.

Gokudera found himself oddly calm, in comparison to the raging pain that had overcome him earlier in the day. His anger appeared to have taken the form of a bubbling lake of lava. The volcano would not erupt until it needed to, but now it was keeping him going on a level keel of concentrated fury…

Almost back to normal, then.

His initial assumption had been that the bazooka's effects would wear off within the normal five minutes, but nothing had changed, and hours had crawled by as he wandered the unusually peaceful town, accompanied only by the soothing sound of the rain. It reminded him of Yamamoto. It reminded him that he was stuck in this era, and nothing that he could possibly do was going to change their situation or his. He hadn't even had the first clue where to find Shuichi, and even if he did, he had no weapons. No support. No _famiglia_ to watch his back. Tsuna appeared to be trapped in his era, and there was nothing he could do to help.

The rain continued to fall.

At least Yamamoto was still there to help. He would protect Jyuudaime; Gokudera had no doubt in his capabilities. He, however, was still a failure. Even now, Yamamoto was there to help, and he was left in limbo.

Of course he had attempted searching for the current Vongola family in Namimori, what did you think he was? Stupid?

That was when he had discovered that, just as he had not returned to his time, Tsuna had not returned to his. His mother had said that everyone was looking for both Reborn and her son, and had been somewhat flustered. She hadn't even noticed the suit. He had looked everywhere, and found no one. Now, soaked to the bone, he stood in front of a familiar shop. It was even the right sort of time to eat, he supposed. When he entered, the man at the counter looked up, his face splitting into a wide, welcoming grin that was so reminiscent of his son's.

Gokudera's gut twisted painfully.

"Gokudera! It's so good to see you! Takeshi didn't mention that you were due to pay a visit today."

Yamamoto's dad.

He stepped into the rough, manly embrace in a way that he would never have allowed himself to do in the past. Obviously today was a day to face the embodiment of some of his worst regrets.

The sushi chef was surprised at his uncharacteristic lack of reaction to the affection, but tried not to show it, slapping Gokudera on the back and ushering him to a seat.

"You look like you could do with a little drying out and cheering up! Nothing like a good bit of sushi to help."

If he noticed Gokudera's appearance, he chose not to mention it. The soaked Vongola had yet to say anything. He couldn't believe he had actually even allowed himself to forget what this life was like. What these families once were.

Time passed, punctuated by the sounds of Yamamoto senior's knives and cheerful monologue. He wished he could have some sake. The rain still fell. The comforting _shush_ still reminded Gokudera to relax. He decided he liked the rain. It matched his melancholy mood. It reminded him of Yamamoto.

He knew that was something he definitely didn't like. The rain was a paradox.

"..dera? Gokudera!"

He suddenly realised that he had been asked a question.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Uncharacteristically polite. Still distracted. He caught the curious look the man threw at him, this time.

"I was just asking if there was a particular occasion for the suit? It's unusual to see you in one!" He laughed.

Gokudera allowed himself to smirk a little. Yeah. Hardly the goth-rocker-punk-emo hybrid of his past. His suits were now part of him, his life, his job - his family. Not that he didn't indulge in the odd choker, bracelet or belt every so often. What was life without its luxuries?

"Where's Yamamoto?" He asked; eyes still fixed on the rain. There was that brusque rude attitude. He was slowly getting back in control again. Yamamoto's dad laughed, not at all perturbed by the rapid change of subject or blunt disregard of his question.

"I thought he was out looking for your other friends with you! You know, Tsuna and the little boy. He's got baseball practice tomorrow, so I hope he doesn't catch a cold in this rain. Or come home too late."

Gokudera nodded. It didn't seem like he would get any answers or contact with anyone tonight. The rain would fall, and he would watch it until his preset function to be alert for offensive actions switched off and he could finally slink off home.

* * *

The last stop on Gokudera Express was his apartment. His apartment...the veritable Fort Knox of budget accommodation. Impervious to all shape, size, and calibre of intruder.

'Intruder' included him, at this point in time. His younger self appeared to have taken his keys with him, and he, of course, had dropped his bag, with all its gadgets, weapons, notes, and keys when he saw the Jyuudaime alive. Oh happy irony. Although, who really secures their apartment from every possible form of attack or intrusion (including Yamamoto and his homework) under the assumption that they would never need to break in themselves?

Being a genius had its benefits. Sometimes.

He grimaced. Smack window frame…_here_. Twist _this_. Duckthatprojectile! Gently move…there. Breaking into your apartment is easy when you know how. It also helps if you ignore the fact that you're hanging from a window ledge that's a fairly fatal drop away from the ground. Inside, the calm that seemed to have pervaded every inch of the town was also present. It was clean, tidy, neat. It was a surprisingly easy decision to drop every concern of attack in favour of the oblivion of his bed. Every threat that had been imminent in his usual life ten years later was not present. Jyuudaime was beyond reach.

All he had to worry about was angst and nightmares.

But that was all in a day's work.

* * *

Please review!

**This will not have a proper plot. It will be more character exploration/interaction than some form of butchered KHR storyline.**

I think that KHR has too much faffing with ridiculous scenarios when it could have a lot more insight into the characters. However! That's what fanfiction is for. So! Please review, I've never written anything other than Naruto.

Title inspired by Chapter 137

Story inspired by 'And Somewhere Along the Line' by Kia Ixari


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